The End
by sugahcat
Summary: After UXM 350, Gambit takes what he sees as the only way out.


The End  
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WARNING!!! This story is very depressing (unless you're a Gambit hater). You have been warned! This one's not for kiddies, I think...   
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He sat on the floor in a cold, damp room. The wooden floor boards were uncomfortable, the black-out curtains dimmed what little light there was, and the Verve song playing softly on the radio did nothing to ease his depression. 

Do you ever wonder why you were born? This man does. He looks on his life, and see's nothing good. All it has been is him being hurt, and him hurting. Is there a point? Is there?

Might as well ask if there's a God. *If there is, why do I feel like this? Why do i burn everything I touch, everything I love?* Is love real, or is it just a rampant electrical impulse tickling your brain? With a humourless laugh, the man's red-on-black eyes look around the room. Broken beer glass and used hypodermic needles from the place's last owners. He didn't mind. Hell, he'd be on them himself, but as the song was wailing out to him;

"The drugs don't work, they just make you worse..."

He hung his head. Felt tears prick his eyes as for the hundredth time, the images played accross his mind. His wide eyes, as he saw the men and women he'd just let into the cavern begin shredding the inhabitants to pieces. For too long, he could only just stand there, bile rising in his throat. Shudders ran uncontrollably thru his body, but he didn't run. He couldn't. He ignored his brain saying he should have expected something like this after what Creed did to Genevieve, and walked up to him with a handful of explosively charged cards. Before they could leave his hands, Sabretooth, murderer for fun, turned and slashed his claws deep into his belly. His throat and chest tighten, eyes bulge as he felt Creed's claws move inside of him. The last thing he see's before falling heavily to the ground, is Creed laughing as he goes on to his next victim.

The man could have died there. Should have died there. But he couldn't face it. He couldn't die here, in a deepening pool of his own handiwork, while he had so much to repent for.

*So much. Too much.* His eyes open, and he shakes his head. Back then, he didn't know what had driven him. He supposed it must have been a mixture of desperation and stupidity. He needed what his employer had, and was stupid enough to not see what was coming. Hindsight is always better than foresight, they say, but he didn't even think!

"Damn it!" He cursed loudly, thumping an injured beyond repair frostbitten hand on the floor. For a second, he worried when he felt not the slightest pain, but he soon forgot about it. What did it matter? What did anything matter? He had no redemption. He'd tried to earn it as an X-Man, a superhero. Between them, they'd saved ten times more than the number of people that had died because of him. Saved the world, even. But what did it matter? When it came down to it, what did it matter? No-one forgave him. He didn't forgive himself, and he had 30 stitches, and too many psychological scars to count to prevent him ever forgiving himself, without deep help. 

What hurt most of all? His lack of redemption? His lack of courage that day? No. What hurt most was hurting those he loved - his best friend in the world, Ororo, and the woman - the only woman - he'd cherished in his heart, Rogue. That was what he would never forgive himself for. His attempt to keep his secret from them was as much for his own sake as theirs, he realised. All his life, he'd been nothing but a selfsh brat. And that selfishness had left people dead, injured, or emotionally scarred.

Standing shakily, he walked over to the window, and looked out at the street, 6 stories below. A vaugue, small part of his mind wondered ifhe could survive a jump like that intact. Probably, he realised, unless he swan dived and broke his neck. 

At that thought, a faint smile played over his lips. Would that be so bad? What would death be like? A cold dark grave, nothing more? Or would there be heaven, and hell? The man hoped there would be re-incarnation. He wanted another chance. To start again. The only thing was, he had the terrible feeling he'd just forget everything he had learned the hard way and completely screw everything up again. he found himself throwing his own words back in his face. "Those who cannot remember the past are destined to repeat it". Eyes refocused on the quiet road outside as he recalled who those words had been said to. Joseph was an amnesiac who had previously been alternatively a emotionally tormented man who believed in his dream, but would do anything to avhieve it, and a psychotic killer. He had been Magneto, the worst of the worst. 

And this man, in the room... what had he been? How many people had he killed on purpose? Several, he would admit that. But always for a reason. Never just because they were in his way, or because they wouldn't bow down to him. 

Was that what was required to be forgiven? You must confess your sins, even if you know what'll happen if you do -- you'll be condemmed? And if you do something the world cannot help but notice, and get a nice bout of amnesia at just the right time, the woman someone else loves and would do anything... almost anything... to make her happy, would come along and coddle you and help you however she can? If that was so, and you could only remember one thing in the next life, if there was such a thing, it would be, for him, to be truthful from the start. It seemed to him that people wanted to be hurt by your past from the start rather than waiting a while. It'd still hurt as much, surely?

He didn't know. He didn't care, as the salt-tears fell from his eyes. He wiped them away with the back of his hand, and turned. Picking up a piece of paper, and the stubby remains of a pencil, he paused, the pencil hovering. Eventually, he settled on neatly writing in cursive;

_

"Rogue, je suis desolee. Croire en moi -- je ne jamais a faire mal toi. Je t'aime toujours."

_ Looking down at it, he fastened it to the wall, and sat down to look at it. Every word was true. He _was_ sorry. For the hurt he had caused her, more for the Morlocks who died. He never meant to hurt her. He evn meant to tell her himself, but he never could find the courage. It died with his faith in a god. But most of all, and the most important, he would love her forever. What he wanted to do had nothing to do with her. It was an, an adventure! Yeah! His enthusiasum dropped, and he scowled in disgust with himself. He was lying again. It seemed he had been doing it for too long. 

He removed the note from the wall, and folded it neatly and placed it in his pocket. Shakily walking to the window, he looked along the length of the road. 

*Is dis where de angels come in? T' protect y' from y'self, t' show y' life ain't so bad?* He paused, and continued to stare at nothing, as the remains of his tattered faith tore to shreds. *Life is so bad. Angels won't lie t' y'. If dey exist...* Perching himself on the windowsill, with some difficulty due to his frostbitten limbs, he waited a second, and stared up at the sky. Pausing, he bit his lip. 

*God? I... I don' know if y' dere, or if y'd listen to an idiot-loser like me... But if y'are... look after my friends... dey'll go thru some hard times.. But most of all, look after Roguie. Y' know I love her, don't y'? Let her be happy, wit' Joseph, or whoever else she chooses. An' let her forgive me.* He frowned. Praying was hard. He was torn between the part of him that had lost the faith, and the part of him that needed a God to turn to now, a God to look after him. *Please forgive me, Lord. For what I've done... what I'm about t' do... I wanna stop hurtin'. Me, an' other people. I need y' kindness. Please grant it me...*

With that, and a deep breath, he hurled himself, head-first, from the window. 

The time it took to fall was only a few seconds, but it felt too long, a lifetime. The man found out a great many things. Your life really does flash in front of your eyes. And for some reason, it lingered on the good bits. As if laughing at you, that you've had a riot but you can't go back to it. The man twitched in mid-fall, but he knew he'd never make the twist enough to not kill himself. Accepting this fact with a detachment, he smiled as he hit the floor. Whatever was coming next _was_ going to be an adventure. He didn't know what'd happen. No idea. And that was exciting. He wondered if he'd see Illyana, the little sister of one of the X-Men. Or any of the several X-Men who'd died. With a grin, despite the circumstances, he wondered how many of the 'dead' enemies he'd see, and had a brilliant idea that the X-men could have used to find out the fate of an enemy -- use a medium.

But the idea would be of no use to anyone, as he hit the floor, and with a sickening *crak*, his head snapped back   
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Later, two cops looked at the body they'd just found.

"Damn shame," Muttered one of them, shaking his head.

"Yeah. What coulda happened to this kid that was so bad?" Asked the other while rooting, plastic gloved, thru the wallet. "Well, we've got a Remy LeBeau here... from New Orleans, but living in New York... Aw, hell."

"What's up, Jer?" Asked the other cop, looking over Jer's shoulder to see the suicide note. He frowned, not being bi-lingual. 

"He killed himself because of a girl."

"God." 

Jer shook his heaad as the morticians carried him away. "Poor kid..."   
*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*  
Graymalkin Lane was peaceful, as usual. Not too much of a tourist resort, the nearest shops and attractions being a good few miles away. It was, however, the home of the Uncanny X-Men. 

Two of their number, Rogue and Cecilia Reyes, are in the front room, watching the local news. Neither of them are particularly interested, but also don't want to talk to each other. As Rogue stares blankly at the TV screen, a chill of recognition spins its way up her spine. The superficially smiling news presenter has the usual bad news... only this time, it involves Rogue's heart.

"...In other news, a local man, Remy LeBeau of Salem Centre, was found dead after what seems to be suicide. Police are investigating the matter..."

Dr. Reyes looked over at Rogue frowing. The white streaked brunette had tears running down her pretty face, and she bit down on her fist, to drown out the silent sobs.

"Are you... okay?" She asked, unsure, as she placed a hand on the untouchable woman's clothed arm. 

Letting out a tormented sob, she fleed from the room. Cecilia watches her go, wondering what that was about, then smiles, and flicks to Rikki Lake, as the television is all hers. 

THE END 


End file.
